Misgivings
by roodwook
Summary: A Harmony story. Hermione learns that relationships are best easy, not drama filled. They fit together, just like puzzle pieces. Slow build. Prior RW/HG. Rating likely to change.
1. Chapter 1

Harry was roused from a rather nice sleep by a series of sharp, fast knocks on his door. Opening his eyes blearily, he scrambled around for his wand and glasses and cast a quick _lumos_.Out of the window he could see the sky was still dark, the moon high and bright in the sky, a few stars dotted in the dark navy. Harry dropped his head back to the pillow, hoping that whoever was at the door would just _leave him the hell alone_ , but the mysterious person knocked again, louder and almost frantically, so with a groan, Harry pushed his head up from his pillow and unsteadily got to his feet. Pulling on his dressing gown, he made his way slowly to the door, yawning every few steps, and finally saw who was there.

Hermione, wrapped in a green parka and a tapestry-patterned scarf, was standing on his doorstep, shivering and looking at him with a beseeching look in her eyes.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, shocked. "I – what are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry Harry," Hermione began weakly, "But I couldn't think of anyone else to go to – well I could but you're not biased – well, I suppose you are – but not in the same way – I thought you'd be best – I wanted to see you."

Harry tried to process the words, Hermione having spoken them in very quick rapid-fire speech. "Come in, come in," he told her, waving her across into his apartment. Quickly shutting the door (since it was extraordinarily cold for December) he ushered her into the dining room and sat her down. "Breathe," he advised, then turned around to make some tea. He wondered why she had come to him in what appeared to be a moment of distress; while she had never said he had the emotional capacities of a teaspoon, she still had always held a certain amount of exasperation at his emotional capabilities. He supposed a cup of tea would be a good start, and after all Hermione had helped him when he was upset so many times – when Ron had left them in the forest those years ago, when everyone thought he'd put his name in the goblet, when he had first seen his parents graves – he supposed it was only fair that he only do his best to help her.

He snorted. _Fair_. Draco was right, he was a Gryffindor to the core.

He brought the steaming cups of tea over to the table, and pushed one over to the still-shivering Hermione, hoping it would serve the dual purpose of warming her up and serving as a comforting gesture. He sat with her, eyes on her as she leant over her tea, gripping the mug with both hands, trusting that she would be better at leading a conversation than he ever would. Plus, he still hadn't woken up. He took a gulp of the tea and relished in the caffeine that coursed through his system.

"I didn't know where to go, Harry," Hermione whispered meekly, and so he took her hand and held it in between his, feeling the iciness of her fingers and the blunt nails she'd recently taken to biting.

"Well, you're always welcome here, Hermione," he replied, feeling more than a little confused. "You guys come round often enough to call it your home."

Hermione smiled weakly; Harry's flat was in main wizarding London, just off from Diagon Alley, so people tended to pop in whenever they went there, which tended to be often. Hermione, especially, was often in for conferences and the like, and so she dropped in for at least a few minutes most days. Harry liked the constant flow of people – it was comforting; almost like his own version of the Burrow, which was always overflowing with people.

"Do you want to tell me what's happened?" Harry asked, stroking her hand slowly with his thumb. She sighed, and finally lifted her gaze up to meet his, her face streaky with tears.

"Ron and I had another fight yesterday," she confided.

Harry felt uncomfortable. Although he could see why she came to him – she couldn't very well talk to Ginny or Ron or Mrs Weasley about it, that was for sure – but Harry always found it easier to stay on Ron's good side. He was his best friend, in a way that Hermione somehow wasn't – they had the same sense of humour, same hopes and dreams, same interests.

"I don't want you to pick sides," she assured him, likely seeing the bunny-caught-in-the-headlights look his face had adopted, "but I had to talk to you. I can't bear it, Harry. We fight so much."

"You always have done," Harry realised. "Even when we were in school. You fought over Krum, over Lavender, over him leaving when we were hunting horcruxes..."

"I know," Hermione said quietly. "I used to think it was almost – _romantic_ , in a way. Because the fights could be made so it looked like we were just jealous. I suppose I kind of thought that when we got together, the fights would stop. But lately, I've been having misgivings... You know, I've been thinking back to the past, when we were at school, and there are so many times we've fought, and been really angry, and he's made me miserable... And I'm just supposed to forget all of that, you know? But you can't just _forget_ the past."

"I know," murmured Harry. "I know."

There was a short silence for a while as both of them digested what they'd just discussed, broken by soft pats of paws on the floor. Rory, Harry's English Sheepdog, had woken up from his sleep and trotted over into the dining room, wagging his tail at Hermione. Hermione managed to give a little giggle and slid down onto the floor to stroke him. Harry quickly followed, sitting clumsily down onto the carpet behind Hermione and scratching behind Rory's ears.

"Mind you," Harry said, "You did set those birds on him."

Hermione chuckled bravely and leant her head against the wall. "I know I did things wrong too. But I've been reflecting and I'm just thinking – the version of love they show in romantic movies – it's just not true, is it? They always have some huge fight and then get back together when they're both sorry and they argue and they're dependent on each other and a lot of the time they're miserable. And when I compare it to people who seem truly happy together – Ron's parents – my parents – Neville and Luna – it's not hard. It's not a struggle like it is for me and Ron. Love should be about having each other's backs, not ripping into each other every couple of days."

Harry was lost for words. He put and arm around her, hoping to communicate something in the touch that he couldn't communicate with his words.

"All this time I thought love had to be dramatic," Hermione continued, "but I think I might be wrong."

"Hermione Granger, wrong?" Harry asked in mock amazement. She grinned and elbowed him in the side. "Don't get used to it. I'm still right ninety five percent of the time."

"That's very specific," Harry noted. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, like she had done those years ago back in the graveyard in Godric's hollow, and Harry was struck with amazement that Hermione Granger, who got ten 'O's and an 'E', who helped him defeat Voldemort, who stood up to torture in Malfoy Manor and still managed a pleasant conversation with Draco, was flummoxed by something as simple and easy as _love_.

Mind you, it wasn't like he had that much experience in that department, he thought dryly. Ginny had once remarked she didn't think Harry was capable of feeling emotion, but that wasn't true; it was just that his stupid brain didn't seem to translate things into words very well. Right now, his heart ached, physically ached, but he didn't know how that connected with anything else in his life right now.

"Why did you and Ginny break up?" Hermione asked, peering up to look at Harry.

Harry considered this. Hermione had heard the full version of events before, so since she was asking again, she probably wanted to know more about his _feelings_ and stuff. He internally shuddered, but gave explaining it a go.

"It was like," he scrunched up his nose in concentration, "I always thought of dating being like a home in human form. Someone you see and you feel at home and it's as easy and natural as breathing. But with Ginny... It always felt like I was trying too hard... and that I still wasn't the perfect guy she wanted me to be."

Hermione mulled over this for a moment. "It's weird, we've spent so long fighting the war, I didn't give any thought to what would happen afterwards. I thought it would all be easy."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "At least You-Know-Who kept us on our toes."

"Yeah, sometimes I find myself with a few minutes to spare, and I wonder what I'm meant to do now I can't plot to save the Wizarding World," Hermione joked. Harry chuckled. "No, now you're saving the Creature Worlds instead."

"Well, someone has to do it," Hermione teased, "Since you have retired from your hero status."

Harry, maturely, stuck his tongue at her, making her laugh. They both leant back against the wall. "Crikey," Harry said. "I've missed this."

"You see me all the time," Hermione pointed out. "You should probably give me a copy of the keys."

"Yes, but..." Harry trailed off. Life now had changed so much now he was out of Hogwarts, and he realised how much he had liked basically living with his best friends. He had Rory now, to keep him company, because when he'd first moved in he'd felt a loneliness like he used to feel at the Dursleys' grab hold of him, so overpowering it was almost like he was choking on it. Rory was lovely to have around – it was good to have a heartbeat next to yours – but Hermione was much more comforting.

Hermione squeezed his hand and he knew that he didn't have to explain, which he was grateful for. It was nice to not have to communicate verbally. His life was full of people trying to interview him, trying to ask what he wanted, how he felt – but he didn't know. Or, he did, somewhere in his soul, but when he opened his mouth the words just didn't flow.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Harry asked kindly.

Hermione looked down at her lap. "Well – I don't want to go back home – I don't want to argue again – I just want to think – but if I don't go home..."

Harry looked at her curiously.

"Ron thinks I'm cheating on him," Hermione explained. Then she paused, shook her head, and reconsidered. "Well, I don't think he _thinks_ so much as is paranoid about it. So if I stay here... With our history..."

"Our history of being platonic friends...?" Harry finished uncertainty.

"No, that stuff with the locket," Hermione said quietly. "He talks to me about it. About how he saw us kissing. About how the locket said _"all that you dread is also possible..."_ "

"That was Voldemort's soul talking," Harry spoke in a low voice. "How could he believe that?"

Hermione shook her head wearily. "I don't know. It's not like I've given him any reason to suspect anything. I wouldn't do something like that. I like to think I'm quite grown up."

Harry thought for a few moments. "Stay here," he decided. "We can camp out in the living room. It's time for sleeping, not for arguments. Besides, if he trusts you, he won't mind. You're one of my best friends. I care about you."

Hermione looked uncertain, so Harry left her with Rory while he went to find some bedding. He grabbed the bedding off his bed, sniffed it, and deemed it sanitary enough for use while guests were close by. He rummaged in the linen cupboard for some blankets and pillows, and then dragged the lot into the living room. "I wasn't sure if I could carry multiple things with my wand in the air at once," he explained sheepishly to a laughing Hermione. "But I only have one duvet. Can you conjure one?"

Hermione looked at it uncertainly. "Duvets are difficult things," she said slowly. "I don't know if I can get the texture right. Might be easier just to enlarge it."

"Might as well enlarge the lot," Harry remarked, looking around the living room, "Unless you can conjure a mattress."

"There's a mattress upstairs, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "We can enlarge that too." She stood thoughtfully for a minute. "You know, Hogwarts doesn't teach us a lot useful stuff."

"Did Hermione Granger just disapprove of the school system?" Harry asked in mock surprise, earning himself another elbow to the ribs. "Don't tease someone so vulnerable," she whined.

"Okay, okay," Harry conceded. "I know my place. I'll go up and get the mattress, shall I?"

"Yes, make yourself useful," Hermione said primly, turning around and waving her wand at the mattress.

Within a few minutes, the room looked like an explosion at a linen factory; the now huge mattress was piled up with duvets and pillows. The caffeine rush he'd got from the tea had dissipated, and now his eyes felt heavy and his limbs were very aware that it was the early hours of the morning and he should not be hauling blankets downstairs. He was surprised Hermione was up this late; Hermione usually popped around Harry's house at eight, clutching a coffee and looking perfectly organised, while Harry was plodding around in his pajamas. She really must be shaken up to miss out on sleep on a Wednesday like this.

He gestured to Hermione to make herself at home before getting some water from the kitchen and switching out the lights. He launched himself into a random section of duvet, pillow, and blanket, took his glasses off, and sighed in contentment.

"Harry," Hermione began.

Harry rolled onto his side and could vaguely see a blob-shaped Hermione a few feet away from him.

"Is this weird?"

Harry considered this for a moment.

"Only if you let it be," he decided. He yawned and snuggled into the mattress. "Night night, Hermione."

He heard a muffled goodnight from Hermione before he drifted into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry woke, it was to the smell of sizzling bacon and eggs and empty sheets beside him. He stretched lazily, shoved on his glasses and wondered into the kitchen, where Hermione was jabbering in quick-fire speech.

"Tell Simmons that I won't be able to make it in on time today," She instructed a quill which was furiously scribbling on parchment midair. "But I should be able to make it in for the meeting with the Goblin Liaison Office – oh, and make sure Cratchet has finished collating his side of the reports of House Elf Standards – that's very important if we're to start drafting the proposed guidelines of care – oh morning, Harry, would you like some bacon?"

She pointed her wand at the pan and bacon flew out onto a plate. Harry muttered his thanks and went to the fridge to get some orange juice, ruffling his hair absentmindedly with one hand.

"The office should be able to cope without me for the morning," Hermione continued dictating to the quill, "Assuming Poppy and Benjamin are in." She thought for a moment. "I think that's all," she decided, waving her wand at the parchment and folding what was now parchment two feet long neatly into an aeroplane shape. "Go to my house and tell Carol to take it to Poppy at once."

The paper aeroplane nodded and then zoomed happily out of the room.

"Well, that's taken care of," Hermione said, looking weary. She slumped down into a chair next to Harry and took a long of gulp of coffee. "I guess at some point I have to go home and face the music." She looked exhausted; her eyes had big black shadows underneath them. Harry felt slightly guilty that he had, on the whole, slept rather peacefully; he knew that Hermione had bad nightmares and berated himself for not taking more care.

"Can't you go to work from here?" Harry asked through a mouthful of bacon and eggs.

Hermione gave him a condescending look. "In the clothes I wore yesterday? With none of my files? I came here with nothing, Harry; I don't even have my purse."

"Okay," Harry said, raising his hands in surrender. "Fair enough."

She sighed. "Sorry. I don't want to be grumpy."

"That's okay," Harry replied. Finishing his bacon and eggs, he got up and started to fill Rory's food and water bowls. Hermione watched him silently, prodding gingerly at her bacon and eggs.

"Hey Harry, I wanted to –"

Ron stopped dead in the middle of the room, clearly not expecting Hermione to be sitting at Harry's kitchen table, eating breakfast, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. His eyes bugged and Harry could see his cheeks slowly flushing to a deep scarlet colour.

"Ron," Hermione greeted him in shock, standing up as if to greet him. They stood there awkwardly for a moment in silence, Ron looking angry, Hermione scared, and Harry with the expression of a startled deer.

"Do you want to explain?" Ron asked, his voice low and sounding like he was trying very hard to restrain himself.

"I was upset Ron, you know that," Hermione began, her voice sounding rather panicked. "So I came to Harry, and we talked for a bit and then he offered for me to stay the night –"

"What?" Ron said in disbelief, turning to Harry. "You asked my girlfriend to stay at your house?"

"It's an apartment actually," Harry murmured, then, seeing the anger in Ron's eyes, "She's my best friend Ron. I don't want her to be upset."

"So what?" Ron asked. "You just sat there and bitched about me, with my girlfriend? You _know_ I've been jealous of you two – you saw the horcrux!"

"We've never given you any reason to be jealous," Harry defended. "Look, we're not in school anymore, you have to have trust in a relationship –"

"Yeah, because you have so much experience," Ron spat. "Besides, you need trust in a friendship, too. You weren't thinking of that when you asked my girlfriend to stay over."

"I'm not just _your girlfriend_ , Ron," Hermione cut in. "I'm my own person and Harry's my friend."

"I'm your friend too!" Ron burst out. "I'm your best friend – and your boyfriend – and you have the nerve of going to Harry – behind my back!"

"Ron, have you got my keys...?"

Lavender stood in the middle of the room, clearly not expecting to see such a large group of people.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, her voice now very shrill.

"Morning, Lavender, so lovely to see you," Harry said, nodding at her. She smiled back at him, looking rather unperturbed.

"I came to see if Ron had taken my keys by accident," She replied.

"How did you know to come to my place?" Harry asked her curiously.

"Your place?" Lavender looked at confusion at Ron. "Ron told me this was his address."

"Well, I knew if you turned up at my house, Hermione would freak out," Ron said, very uncomfortably.

Hermione turned to Ron with an expression of wrath and fury. Sensing a yelling match coming on, Harry grabbed Lavender and bundled her into the living room, shutting the dining room behind them.

He looked at Lavender for the first time, her blue eyes wide, and he realised with a shock and a guilty jerk to his navel that he had thought her dead the last time he had seen her, having just been attacked by Fenrir Greyback. Yet here she was, draped in colourful swathes of pink and blue fabric, her blonde hair curled and running smoothly down her back.

"You look great," Harry said honestly.

She beamed. "Thanks, Harry." She looked at the door behind her and whispered, "What's going on?"

"I was rather hoping you could tell me," Harry replied. He sighed. "Hermione and Ron got into a fight and she stayed here the night –"

"You don't live together?" Lavender asked in surprise. Seeing Harry's expression, she hurriedly added, "Look, I haven't seen you for so long, you guys looked so at home I just thought..."

"No, no, Ron and Hermione are together," Harry corrected her. He paused. "...Did Ron not tell you that?"

Lavender shook her head and Harry felt pity for her. She was now, without doubt, a werewolf, probably being screwed over by the entire magical community, and now Ron was once again using her as second place Hermione, like he had used her back in Hogwarts. She was intelligent, attractive and loving, and yet Ron had used her to snog and then dumped her for another girl. And now not to even tell her who he was dating?

"It's okay," Lavender assured, seeing Harry's face. "He was pretty drunk at the time. I met up with him in the Leaky Cauldron – sounded like he'd had a few firewhiskeys. And we just talked as friends," she added. "Nothing happened. You might not believe it, but I'm actually over my teenage crush. But what are they doing yelling in there? You're her friend, I'm Ron's... acquaintance... Nobody's cheated, have they?"

"No, Harry replied wearily. "No. They're just like this. They're very jealous, you know?"

Lavender nodded understandingly. "Some couples are like that." She glanced at her watch. "Look, Harry, I'm late for work, so if Ron did take my keys could you just floo me? Ron has my address, but I don't imagine he'd want to see me again."

Harry nodded. "Of course." He turned to watch her go. "Lavender... I'm sorry," he mumbled, his heart going out to her.

She smiled gently at him, and then she was out of the door and apparating to work.

Harry leant back against the wall and sighed. He could still hear Ron and Hermione fighting in the dining room. He had been so focused on Voldemort through the years; he had just assumed everything else would fall into place, no biggie. Instead, he was in an apartment with no job and no direction in his life, listening to the two of his best friends, his rocks, fall out.

His heart stopped for a moment as he considered the implications. What if Hermione and Ron _didn't_ make it through this? What if he had to see both of them in private, away from each other, like he had done all those years ago when they were just a handful of naive kids? They were meant to be _adults_ now, but Harry felt like even less of an adult, and from the sounds of it, Hermione and Ron were still bickering like children.

In a way, they were both being reasonable. Harry could see that Ron was just jealous and paranoid and fed up with constantly being overshadowed by the other two. Hermione was fed up with being blamed and arguing and finding it hard to forgive the things he had done. Harry supposed in that way, he was different from the other two; he found it remarkably easy to forgive.

It was too early for all this arguing, Harry decided, and he headed back into the hallway, trying his best to ignore the shouting ("You slept in the same _bed_?" "You went after your _ex_?") and headed to have a nice, long, hot shower, preferably with music pounding in the background to drown out all the negative energy.

He came out feeling much more refreshed and ready to face the world. A quick _tempus_ showed that it was about ten in the morning (Harry wondered how early Hermione usually went to work), and Harry idly ran through the things he had to do today. He ought to get his Christmas presents, really, and he ought to go and book a private mind healer, really, and he ought to go to the careers consultant office, really, and he ought to find some interests, really.

All of these tasks, bar the Christmas present ones, had been set months ago, and Harry hadn't really got round to them yet. He knew he really should, since he was just giving The Prophet ammunition against him. There had been many, many headlines about Harry and his life choices, as well as a few about Ron and Hermione. Harry had noticed there had been a small obituary for some of those lost in the Battle of Hogwarts, but all in all they had passed by forgotten; The Prophet seemed to want to only put out cheery news.

He stepped tentatively towards the kitchen, relieved to hear silence. The room was empty, and Hermione had left a note in scrawled, hurried writing.

 _Harry;_

 _Thank you for letting me stay over tonight. Ron and I have gone to work. I appreciate all you've done but I think it's best I don't see you until all this blows over._

 _Love, Hermione._

Harry's heart sank as he read the letter; surely Hermione couldn't _really_ be suggesting they didn't see each other until she and Ron had sorted things out – Christmas was in five days! His friends were like his family, and since Ron was angry with him, he doubt he would be particularly welcome at the Weasleys' for Christmas. Molly was like a second mum to him, and he was used to going to her when he needed, but she valued her children so much she would turn into a Hungarian Horntail if they got hurt.

And by the looks of it, Ron was really rather hurt.

Harry shrugged on his coat and grabbed his keys, figuring, since it was less than a week until Christmas, he should really start with his shopping. He _iff_ ed and _err_ ed about whether to buy Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys Christmas presents, and in the end decided that he might as well.

He made his way down to Diagon Alley, with Rory gambolling lazy by his side and chasing pigeons. The air was cold and biting as he made his way down to George's shop, a pretty solid bet to get a lot of his presents.

George was in his element, bustling around the shop and cheerily speaking to customers. There were a few attractive saleswomen manning the tills; one, with straight blonde hair and striking cheekbones, clearly recognised Harry as 'The Chosen One', and winked at him, but Harry walked past unaffected. Lately he had been walking past a lot of potential dates; in fact, he hadn't dated anyone since he dated Ginny, and that ship had sunk a hell of a long time ago.

He absentmindedly looked around the shelves for some stuff for Teddy and Ron – who still had the humour of a six year old – while he thought of gifts for the others. Hermione was easy – a book and treats for Crooshanks – and Ron would be satisfied with jokey gifts from WWW, as would four-year-old Teddy. Andromeda he could send a big bunch of flowers, Molly a Celestina Warbeck record, Ginny a Quidditch book or something...

He was looking at some Dreaming Charm Boxes ( _Comes with 8 pre-set dreams and 12 available dreams to create yourself!_ ) when he felt fatigue seep into his bones. His life felt so pointless lately – like he had no focus now Voldemort has gone and the girl he thought he would spend the rest of his life with was no longer even his friend.

He sighed and put the things back on the shelf – there was no way he was going to get any shopping done when he was in this state. He hurried out of the shop, grabbed Rory's collar and span round on the spot, instinctively thinking of the place where he knew someone would be having as much difficulty as he was.

Draco's house swam into his vision, an old, crumbling brick house that looked fit for a hermit; it was in the middle of nowhere and overgrown, with thistles and trees growing up at random. The windows were dark and the chimney was puffing out small wafts of smoke.

"Draco," he yelled, making his way up to the door, nearly ripping his jeans as he did so. "Draco!"

The door opened to reveal a pale blonde young man with big dark shadows under his eyes. He was thin, thinner than he had been when Harry had last seen him, and had a shadowy beard beginning to grow.

"Draco," Harry said, a mixture of relieved and concerned. "Can I come in?"

Draco smiled at him and nodded. "Since you've brought Rory along. I could do with some doggy therapy."

Harry raised his eyebrow and Draco elbowed him in the ribs. "Fuck off, Potter. You wish you could get this ass."

"Hmmmm," Harry hummed, declining to go any further in case he offended him as he followed him into the hallway. "Jesus, Draco. This place looks like it's exploded."

The hallway was strewn with clothes, wrappers, and general disarray. Draco shrugged, looking sheepish, as he did a half jump into the living room and collapsed on a sofa. "I can never be bothered to tidy it."

"But Draco," admonished Harry, "you can use magic – it would take about two seconds."

"I lost my wand," Draco told him offhandedly, "somewhere in the kitchen, I think."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Accio wand!"

Draco's wand soared out of the surrounding mess and flew into Harry's hand.

"Wow," Harry commented, looking at the wand. "It's weird to have it in my palm again. This is the wand that killed Voldemort."

"Yep," Draco replied, a smirk on his face as he reclined back and sighed. "See without me you wouldn't have won the war. I'm a hero."

Harry smiled at him, recognising the sarcasm and bitterness in his tone. "You're my hero, Draco."

Draco stared at him with an incredulous look on his face. "I doubt your heterosexuality more and more with every coming day, Potter. Sometimes I wonder if you're hitting on me and then I remember that nobody would hit on a skinny social recluse with a drinking problem."

"A drinking problem?"

"I'm dangerously dehydrated," Draco said solemnly, winking at him. "I notice you don't deny the claims, Potter. Is that why you broke up with the Weaslette?"

"Don't call her that," Harry defended half-heartedly. "And no. I'm still one hundred percent heterosexual, though I'm flattered by your advances."

Draco shot daggers at him. "As if I would go for you, Scarhead." He sighed. "It's weird. How much I miss dating. You know you're the only one who comes round to visit me?"

"You need to get back out into the world, my man," Harry said softly. "I think there's someone out there for everyone."

"Awww, soppy Harry Potter," Draco drawled. "Do me a favour and accio some Whiskey?"

"Draco," Harry said, "you haven't been shopping in months. I doubt you have any Whiskey."

"It'll come from the nearest house," Draco said with a cheeky grin. "It's charity to the socially isolated."

Harry chucked Draco's wand back at him in mock exasperation, laughing at him. "I don't think it's charity when it's self inflicted, honey. Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Draco said sincerely. "Now accio that Whiskey for me."

"You have a wand!" Harry protested.

"Ah yes," Draco said, twisting the wand around in his hand, "But, as the Chosen One, you have far more magical capabilities than a poor little commoner like myself, and therefore should be the one to do difficult magic for me."

"We learnt accio in fourth year."

"You would know," Draco said, with a cheeky grin.

Harry returned to his flat later feeling cheerful, but lonely. Usually Rory was enough to keep him happy, but tonight he felt like he was missing something. Or someone. Yesterday had been nice, talking with Hermione and knowing there was a human sleeping next to him. And not any human. This was Hermione, the Hermione that had healed him and saved him and danced with him and hugged him and who understood him on a level Harry didn't even understand himself.

He missed Hermione.

Bollocks.

AN: Thank you for the reviews and follows! I hope this chapter is okay, there will be more Harry and Hermione in the next chapter but I didn't want to make it too fast. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

"Ah, Mr Potter."

"Felicia," Harry greeted, walking up to the counter. "Any chance I could see -"

"Hermione? She's in a conference right now, but she should be done in a few minutes. If you wait here, I'll send a memo to her office."

Felicia scribbled something on a post-it note and flicked it up into the air with a swish of her wand.

"You can sit on the sofa over there," she told him.

Harry made his way over to the squishy leather sofa she pointed at, and sunk into it with a drawn out sigh. He'd spent the last few days doing barely anything. Anyone else would have parents, or grandparents, or uncles or aunts or stepmothers and stepfathers - but Harry had nobody except himself to tell him to get up. He had discovered he was exceptionally weak willed when it came to switching off his alarm.

Christmas music was playing quietly in the background, a mixture of muggle and wizarding. Baubles hung by themselves in the air, intertwined with tinsel and wreaths. The pictures on the walls had inhabitants who were clearly having a pre-Christmas party, complete with wine and firewhiskey. Many of them were rather red in the face, and it seemed like they had had a silencing charm put on them.

Harry sat through two of Celestina Warbeck's warbling Christmas songs ("Kiss me under the pixies we put on the tree...") before Hermione finally appeared, looking worn out, and beckoned him into her office.

Harry sat down tentatively. "Hey."

"Hey," Hermione greeted him, sounding very stressed. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to talk to you," Harry mumbled, looking at his toes, now wondering if he was wrong to visit. "I haven't seen you in ages - and it's nearly Christmas - and -"

"That's okay," Hermione smiled gently. "Work is going well."

"How are things with you and Ron?" Harry asked.

"They aren't, really," Hermione said, trying to sound brave, although her bottom lip was trembling. "I don't think it's going to work out."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry said sincerely, struck with shock. Even though the signs had been coming for a while, it was difficult to digest.

Hermione gave a half hearted smile and then, without warning, she threw herself onto Harry's lap and started sobbing.

Alarmed, Harry sat and patted her back while she spoke hysterically. "I can't see any other way, Harry, I really don't, and it's not that I want to live with him, because I don't, but the Weasleys will hate me! And the papers will say all sorts of stupid things - and I've got no family in the Wizarding world, nobody to fight for me -"

"Hey," Harry said gently, squeezing her hand, "I will. And as the Chosen One, they are gonna print what I say. Even if I've gone down in their eyes because of being such a pathetic layabout."

"You're not pathetic, Harry," Hermione whispered, and Harry was suddenly very aware Hermione was sitting on his lap, her lips inches from his.

It was strange. There was a clawing feeling inside of his stomach that was telling him there was _too much space_ , and if he moved and put her hand in her hair-

He did, and felt the long curls that rippled down her back, soft and smooth but unruly, and he saw Hermione's brown eyes widen and stare into his.

Harry didn't dare break the eye contact as his hands travelled slowly down her back, following the bend of her spine, feeling the wool of her Christmas jumper. It was like they were young again, and Harry was once again a testosterone-fuelled teenager that was aching for something he didn't have, and probably never would.

He wasn't sure how Hermione was feeling, but the fact that she hadn't jumped away from him seemed to be a good sign. Her arms were still wrapped around his neck and Harry felt a smooth, soft hand gently slide its way into his hair, and he damned himself for not taking better care of it - it was a rare time he agreed with the Dursleys.

"It's all so scary," Hermione said softly.

Harry pulled her into a close hug, feeling her warmth and the steady thump of a heartbeat next to his, pounding hard and fast. They fitted perfectly together, Hermione's head resting in the crook of his shoulder, his head resting on her hair.

He wasn't exactly sure how long it was before they moved, Hermione sliding back from him. Before he could even think about it, he blurted out, "Spend Christmas with me."

"What?" Hermione asked, taken off guard.

"Neither of us are welcome at the Weasleys' right now. And I have no company, and you have a lot to work through, and - well, I just want you there. Please?"

Hermione smiled at him, then nodded. "I suppose I could fit Christmas with you into my schedule."

Harry looked at her, the busy girl that had been tortured and accused and worked half to death, sitting on the boy that had ended up disappointing everyone and losing himself somewhere after the finish line, and he knew that it sounded a little bit of a crazy match. But it made sense, for him, at least, for her to be by his side, like she had done so many times, like hopefully she always would be.

"I don't want to lose you, though," Hermione mumbled, so quietly Harry almost couldn't hear her.

"You won't," Harry told her, with conviction in his tone. "You can't lose someone when you've been through the things we have."

Hermione nodded, and Harry felt like he had been kicked back into reality with a start. This was Hermione. His best friend. Who had just broken up with his other best friend. There was a good chance he could lose both of his best friends if he ever pursued whatever he was feeling right now.

"So I'm coming to yours for Christmas?" Hermione changed the subject.

"And Christmas Eve?" Harry asked, with puppy dog eyes.

"I suppose," Hermione agreed, rolling her eyes. "I'll come sometime tomorrow then."

"Wait, where are you staying?" Harry asked. "Or are you and Ron still living together?"

"He went to stay with his parents for a couple of days," Hermione replied.

Harry nodded, not quite sure what the appropriate response was.

"Oh," Hermione added, "Do you want to invite Draco? I mean, he doesn't have anyone else-"

Harry's heart swelled and without even thinking about it, he leant forward and pressed his lips to hers. One hand tangled in her hair, one found its way to the small of her back, and Hermione clung to him and it was so, indescribably, incredibly perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hermione, have you got those files -"

Poppy stood in the doorway, staring at them. Hermione and Harry quickly disentangled themselves, both adopting the expression of a startled deer. Harry's head was swimming, and his brain felt oddly numb, and from the looks of it, Hermione felt the same.

"Well," Poppy said, breaking the silence. "I see you've been _working hard_."

"No - Poppy - it's not like that -" Hermione jumped up from Harry's lap, much to his disappointment. "I've got a difficult situation going on at home -"

"Ah, I see," Poppy replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So you decided to bring some random guy to work and shag him."

Harry wasn't sure what to focus on: the fact that Poppy hadn't realised who he was, or the fact that she thought they were going to shag. That was a fairly intimidating thought, actually. He lost himself in his musings as Hermione defended herself.

"I was not going to have sex with Harry! It was one kiss - it lasted for about five seconds -"

"Didn't you just break up with your boyfriend?" Poppy inquired, arms folded across her chest.

Hermione spluttered. "That has nothing to do with anything - it's not your business -"

"When you bring it into my work, you _make_ it my business," Poppy told her, her face fiery. "I mean are you committed to your work? Are you committed to -"

"She's committed to having as good a life as she can," Harry interjected. "As she should be. She deserves it."

Poppy looked at him, her long ginger hair wild and her blue eyes narrowed, and scowled until her eyes travelled to the scar, faint but still visible, on his temple. Her mouth widened in shock as she seemed to scramble for things to say.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said quietly, "but I can fight my own battles."

He looked at her and his face fell. "I know - I didn't mean-"

"I know." Hermione smiled slightly at him and put her hand on his arm. "I know."

Poppy made a noise of frustration. "Hermione, this is completely inappropriate!"

"Oh yes, I touched his _arm_ ," Hermione spat sarcastically. "At this rate, I'll be bent over a desk within the next five minutes."

Harry suddenly found himself very interested in one particular patch on the wall, and proceeded to stare at it intently while the two women continued with their argument.

"It's not about the arm! It's about this entire situation! How dare you – when we have things to get done –"

"You want to talk about that?" Hermione yelled. "You want to talk about morals? Okay, well maybe we'd get more done if you didn't give yourself such a big fat pay check every month when we're struggling to bring in donations!"

Poppy's eyes seemed to bulge. "I do a lot of work! It's not unreasonable – I have three kids! Just because _you_ don't live in the real world –"

"If that was true your kids would be dead!" Hermione countered, and a sudden heavy silence fell upon the room.

It was strange, Harry thought, how even the mention of the war seemed to make people choke on their words – even Draco, who was usually so outspoken on everything, clammed up when the topic came up. He supposed that was fair – Draco had, after all, been on the wrong side, and continued to pay the price every day – but it was suffocating, not being able to talk to anyone about it.

"You can't keep playing the war card," Poppy said quietly, her eyes full of anger. "Learn to grow up."

Hermione sighed and dropped her face in her hands briefly. "Harry, I have another meeting in about five minutes, but I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for everything."

Harry recognised the dismissal and walked back into the lobby, smiling at the receptionist on his way out. The air was cold and had a biting chill to it, making Harry wish he had thought about warmth when picking his clothing options. He made his way slowly down Diagon Alley, turning the morning's events over and over in his mind.

"Harry!"

Harry looked up to just about realise Mrs Weasley was running towards him before he was pulled into a hug. He could smell the familiar scent of perfume and a mixture of cooking smells before she released him and beamed at him. "What a coincidence! Happy Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Mrs Weasley," Harry replied with a smile.

"Oh, dear, don't you think you're a bit old to be calling me Mrs Weasley still?" Mrs Weasley scolded.

"Sorry, Molly," Harry said sheepishly. "What are you doing in Diagon Alley?"

"I've actually just come back from meeting friends," Mrs Weasley answered. "I was just about to get lunch. Care to join me?" Perhaps seeing the look of hesitancy on Harry's face, she added, "I have some things to talk to you about."

Harry's insides squirmed at the thought, but he nonetheless allowed himself to be taken to a nearby fish and chips shop, partly due to the rumbling of his stomach.

"Now, dear," Molly said, taking a seat at a small, wooden table, "Have you been to see that mind healer we talked about?"

"No," Harry admitted. "Just some chips, please," he added to the slightly-grumpy looking waitress who had appeared to take their order.

"Harry," Molly tutted. "Cod and chips for me, dear, and would you bring us some tartar sauce? Thank you so much. Now," she turned back to Harry with a stern face, "Why have you not been to see a healer? They could help you so much, you know. You're all over the Prophet – no job – no girlfriend –"

"Thanks, Molly," Harry interrupted with a cheeky grin. "But I really don't think a mind healer is the best route to go down. I don't want someone staring at the scar on my forehead, and I don't want to spill everything to someone who's probably going to sell my story to the Prophet."

Molly's eyes were full of sympathy. "I understand your concerns – but Harry – you can't keep on going on like this. You, of all people, deserve to enjoy yourself in your twenties."

Harry gave her a weak smile. "You still think that?"

Molly seemed affronted. "Of course! You're like one of the family, Harry. I'm not going to let silly business with my children get in the way."

"You heard," Harry clarified.

"Of course," Molly said fondly, "It was all the children could talk about! I know you had that business with Ginny – and that doesn't change my opinion of you – but Harry," she said, leaning towards him, "don't you think it would be better to let Hermione and Ron sort through their issues?"

Harry stared at her blankly. "Certainly – but I –"

"I mean," Mrs Weasley continued, full steam ahead, "I thought that with you and Ginny, and Hermione and Ron, we'd all end up being part of the family! Now Ginny's a good girl, and you've still got Ron to bind you to the family – but I can't imagine you getting through this if the two of them split up! I mean, how are you going to manage Christmas Eve tomorrow? With those two fighting and you and Ron fighting…"

"Mrs Weasley, I don't think me and Hermione are going to be able to make Christmas," Harry told her. Her jaw dropped open just as the waitress arrived with two plates with steaming, golden, crispy chips.

Harry's mouth watered and he dug in while he waited for Mrs Weasley to digest the news.

"Call me Molly," she eventually said in a hoarse voice, after several minutes of silence. Harry cracked a smile at her priorities. "But dear – what are you doing for Christmas?"

"Hermione, Draco and I are going to spend Christmas together," Harry answered, shaking salt over his chips.

"Harry." Mrs Weasley sounded gobsmacked. "Do you have any idea what that would do? What sort of message that would send out? For Hermione to spend Christmas with you would be like her picking you over Ron!"

Harry shrugged. "They've already broken up, Mrs Weas- Molly. Hermione and I are best friends – always have been – and we have never given Ron any reason to think Hermione is unfaithful." His stomach gave a guilty twinge, remembering the kiss earlier, but he pressed on regardless. "We aren't doing anything wrong, and if Ron thinks from our point of view, he shouldn't have a problem with it."

Molly nodded. "I can see that, dear, and I'm not going to try and change your mind. But if you are going forward with that, invite other people, too. Think of Hermione."

"I have no friends that aren't your children, Molly," Harry joked.

"No! Look, you're in your twenties, it's time to have Christmas with your friends. Neville and Luna will come down, I'm sure of it. And they are such a lovely couple."

"They are," Harry agreed. "I'll send them an owl tonight."

"Best use the Express post owls, to make sure they get the invitation in time," Molly told him, using a chip to mop up the last of her sauce. "Now, dear, even if you're not coming for Christmas – pop in now and then. Arthur has some new muggle things to show you, and you're looking dangerously skinny."

Harry laughed.

AN: I'm sorry for not updating quickly! And I'm sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the rest – I got a scene stuck in my head and had difficulty finishing it off. Thank you so much for all the reviews and follows, let me know if you like this chapter, or how I can improve! Happy New Year


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I thought I would post the answers to any questions/doubts that came up in reviews in the story, in case anyone else is confused. So:

1\. The characters in this story are in their twenties. Hermione, being very independent, has moved out, got a job, etc. and so is at that age where you don't spend Christmas with your family anymore. They all usually go to the burrow as that's where their closest friends are, and to indulge Molly, but on this occasion they have split up.

2\. Harry is the only one who likes Draco, hence why he is so lonely. The reason I thought this friendship would work are:

\- Harry is a very forgiving character. He practically forgets that Draco tried to crucio him, he forgives Snape for everything he'd done to him (which was a lot), wasn't even creeped out at his love for Lily, and named a kid after him in the epilogue. He is the only one not to get angry at Dumbledore's lack of leads, he is pleased to see Ron when he comes back, unlike Hermione, and he saves Peter Pettigrew, who indirectly murdered his parents. He's the kind of guy to just forget about Draco's shittiness.

\- Harry and Draco are, in my view, the two most affected children by the war. This is an obvious case for Harry, but let's not forget that Draco grew up with the darkest wizard ever _in his house_. His father got sent to Azkaban. He is, to my knowledge, the only one in their year to have the dark mark, which must be pretty shit after the war. He watched a teacher at his school be killed, and the book states he was terrified during this. Imagine having Bellatrix in your house. Imagine how hated he would be by everyone after. In my head, they grow this friendship because they are both the same, damaged kids they've always been, held back by their past while everyone seems to be moving forward.

\- Harry and his 'saving people thing' would make Draco a perfect contender of things to try and fix after the biggest enemy of his life has suddenly gone.

Anyway, on with the story! I'm so sorry it's late. I have been trying to write this for so long.

"Draco?" Harry called, stepping into Draco's pigsty of a room. It looked like someone had set fire to it, then bombed it all for good measure; clothes were, as usual, strewn over the floor, and Harry could see wrappers in a pile beside the bed.

The bed which, presumably, still had Draco inside it, even though it was about half past eleven, Christmas Eve.

Harry had expected this, which is why he had come early and prepared. Everyone else was just rocking up, but everyone else were functional human beings, which Draco wasn't, and thus he couldn't be depended on to actually keep to plans.

Sunlight was blazing through the windows, and Harry thought grimly, as he looked at the lump on the bed, that Draco would be very, very grumpy if he just ripped the covers straight off and blinded him with light.

Obviously that was a very bad idea.

And, obviously, Harry did it.

Draco blinked blearily up at him and groaned. "What time is it, Potter, you bastard?"

"Half eleven," Harry said cheerily. "Christmas Eve. You were meant to be ready and at my house by two, to help me set up. You are not ready."

"That much is obvious," muttered Draco, his eyes shutting as his head touched the pillow.

"Rennervate!"

Draco jerked up, and spewed some of his choiciest swear words at Harry, who simply stood there smiling like an arrogant toerag. "I hate you, Potter. I'm not coming to Christmas Eve."

"Come on," Harry whined. "You'll get to see Rory."

"And hang out with a bunch of Gryffindors."

"Luna is a Ravenclaw," Harry pointed out.

"The dumbest, weirdest, most insane one of the lot!" Draco countered. "The closest thing to a Slytherin is you, and you're getting less and less snaky by the day. You're far less mellow now."

"As are you, Draco darling," Harry said with a grin, opening his wardrobe. "Now, Draco... how about a pair of jeans and a t shirt?" He dubiously scanned the wardrobe. "Have you _got_ any?"

"Why would I?" Draco asked, heaving himself out of bed. "It's not like I go out. Boxers are perfectly fine for my own eyes."

"What about my eyes?" Harry asked.

"Meh," Draco said, waving a hand in the air, "you have always been impervious to bare skin. Sometimes I wonder if you're just bisexual and ragingly horny for everyone."

Harry sighed. Counted to three. Then counted to three again for good measure. "Draco. What the hell are you going to wear?"

Draco shrugged, and stalked into the bathroom.

Harry sorted through the crumpled clothes at the bottom of the wardrobe, finally finding some dark coloured jeans, probably gifted to him from the much more muggle fashion conscious Blaise, a plain t shirt, and a worn out, thick blue hoodie that smelt faintly of aftershave Harry didn't recognise.

His hand touched something and he felt a pain on his finger. Drawing it out and sucking on it, Harry realised it was a paper cut. He delved back in, more cautiously, to find hundreds of pieces of parchment littering the floor of Draco's wardrobe, crumpled and forgotten.

Harry internally shrugged. It wasn't his business to go through the other man's stuff. He had the clothes Draco could wear - although Draco could fetch the underwear - and so he laid them on the bed and headed into the kitchen.

The kitchen smelled dire, and like nobody had cooked, or cleaned up, in it for a very, very long time. Harry sighed and made enough room on the hob to make some scrambled egg and grill some toast.

When Draco came in, looking a lot more young than usual, Harry had served them both up with eggs and toast and was hungrily devouring his.

"Wow, Potter, you're a culinary God," Draco drawled, taking a seat at the table and looking at the eggs with disdain.

"Eat it," Harry told him sternly. "It's good for you. Now. Have you got your presents?"

Draco stared at him blankly, and once again Harry employed his count-to-three calming technique.

"Who am I going to get presents for?" Draco asked. "You're the only person I see, and all my family are in Askaban."

"Well, how about me? Your friends from school? Pansy? Blaise? Not your sidekick, though. He was thick as shit."

Draco swallowed a small forkful of eggs and made a face. "Pansy and Blaise still send me cards and presents, but I haven't sent them any in a few years. I'm surprised they still make the effort. I'm not much of a connection anymore."

"We are getting them presents," Harry said firmly. "Now. What about the people coming tonight? Hermione, Neville, Luna?"

"I wouldn't have a clue what to get them," Draco drawled, "and if I did get them anything, they'd probably all go into cardiac arrest from the shock of it. This evening is going to be awkard enough, Potter. I have half a mind to pull out."

"That's what she said," Harry giggled, with Draco looking very unimpressed.

"You have the humour of a ten year old."

"That's what makes me so loveable," Harry grinned. "So. We'll make a trip into Diagon Alley -" Draco's face blanched. "Draco. We have to get something."

"Let's go into the muggle world then," Draco suggested. "People in there don't think I'm scum that needs to be stamped out. You know how many times people have sent me shit in a box? I've had to get really strong wards to stop them all. There are only about five people on the authorised list."

Harry considered this. "What the hell are you going to find for a wizard in the muggle world?"

Draco bit his lip. "Something. Something pretty? Blaise can have clothes. Pansy can have jewellry. I think I have money in here somewhere... I took loads out so I wouldn't have to go back to Gringotts..."

"It's not muggle money, though, Draco," Harry pointed out.

"You think I didn't forsee the fact that I would be cast out from the wizard world, forced to live and rub shoulders with our less talented counterparts? I have some."

"You're so dramatic," Harry muttered, but couldn't stop himself from smiling.

Exhausted and finally back at Harry's flat, Harry and Draco were eating the chocolate decorations that were meant to be on the tree while stringing tinsel and mistletoe everywhere.

Draco had grumbled at the mistletoe - "who am I meant to kiss? Neville? Loony? You?" - but was much more enthusiastic about the tree, which he had engorgio-d into high heaven so that it barely fit into Harry's living room.

There had been a slight change of plans. Hermione had ran into Lavender, and somehow, that had ended up on Lavender being invited to Christmas at Harry's. Harry didn't understand girls. Lavender was estatic, and asked if she could bring along the gang of Gryffindors that pledged to make sure she didn't see Christmas through on her own, and then Parvati and Padma claimed that there were too many girls at Christmas and invited Seamus, who had been planning to spend Christmas with his girlfriend, but apparently was breaking up with her anyway, and then everyone was feeling a bit out-gryffindor-ed so Hermione (again, Harry would never understand girls) had invited people from the other houses, because of 'poor Draco and Luna', and apparently Hermione had sent him an owl about all of this last night but the rather ill-behaved post owl had simply dumped the letter on the floor, left droppings next to Harry's head, and flown away.

Harry didn't mind that there were more people coming than he thought - he was merely surprised they didn't all have Christmas plans, and slightly unnerved at the amount of alcohol he was going to have to purchase.

He guessed that, in your twenties, Christmas with your parents was a lot less appealing than getting smashed off your tits in someone else's house and leaving them to clean it up later.

Why had he agreed to this again?

His floo turned green, and Neville and Luna stumbled out of the ashes, coughing slightly.

"Sorry," Harry apologised, berating himself for not having the forethought to clean the fireplace out. "Neville. Luna. How lovely to see you!"

Next to him, Draco grimaced, which earned him a swift hit with the elbow from Harry as Neville and Luna greeted them both. "How have you both been?"

"Good," Luna answered serenely. "Yesterday, though, we had a horrible infestation of Nargles, didn't we darling?"

Neville's face turned slowly red.

Luna continued. "Yes, I had to get them out, so I decided that my mouth -"

"Vodka?" Draco asked with slight hysteria. "I know I need some!" He went to pour out a shot, but then seemed to go _fuck it_ and just swigged it straight out of the bottle.

"Draco, people haven't even started arriving yet," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, but the lack of _subtlety_ ," Draco hissed.

"I'm sure she didn't mean that," Harry said soothingly. "It's Luna. She probably just drank some flavoured water or something."

"No," Neville whispered. "She did mean that." He then turned back to his girlfriend and listened to her talk as she began an animated discussion, pointing at the tree.

Harry paused for a moment, digesting the facts that his friends had a sex life. Then he grabbed the vodka bottle off of Draco and followed his lead, figuring that this was going to be a very long night.

"Harry!" Hermione and Lavender appeared in the fire, seemingly already tipsy, and linked arm by arm. Seriously, girls. Harry wished they would make a manual on them, since they seemed impossible to understand.

Draco had disappeared, probably overwhelmed, and so it was left to Harry alone to be the host and usher guest after guest in, until his room was filled with people.

He thought he had seen the last until Pansy and Blaise turned up, much to his shock. His mouth fell open and he could only gape at the sight of them for a few minutes.

"Honestly, Potter, close your mouth, you could catch flies in there," Pansy drawled.

"It smells of Gryffindor, Pansy," Blaise complained. "And Draco isn't even here."

Pansy elbowed him. "Remember when we talked about being nice, and sympathetic, and the importance of unity, and the fact that we are getting free alcohol?"

Blaise nodded grudgingly.

"Well then, play nice." She turned to Potter. "It's good we're here. Slytherins know how to throw a party. Although you have got a good turnout, I must admit."

"Just how drunk is everyone?" Blaise asked, peering around the room.

"Well," Harry began, "Lavender and Seamus are drunk enough that they've decided to get closely acquainted with each others' tonsils, and I'm not allowed to stop them because they're both happy whores. Luna is being alarmingly sexual, which is not nice to be around, so I'd avoid her if I were you, Padma and Parvati just got here so they're just a little bit tipsy, and I'm not sure about all the others."

"Fabuous," Pansy exclaimed. "Blaise, be a dear and run along and find Draco. What this party needs is a way to get everyone a lot more drunk and a lot more open."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but didn't have time to protest before Pansy was clapping her hands.

"Everyone!" She shouted. "On the floor! We have games to play!"

A general groan could be heard.

"We're not twelve," said Seamus, having detached himself from Lavender long enough to speak.

"Exactly," said Pansy with barely controlled glee, "that's what will make it so interesting. Never have I ever, with shots of either vodka or tequila. Play if you're not a pussy."

 _Damn_ , Harry thought, _did she know how to antagonise Gryffindors._ People were plopping themselves onto the floor in a big circle, some looking disgruntled, some looking excited, some looking simply off their face. He sat himself down next to Hermione, who smiled at him.

"Dreading this?"

"Yes," he answered, watching as Draco sat himself down with Rory on his lap. "This is entirely your fault, you know."

Hermione sighed. "I know. I didn't expect all this to happen. I was quite looking forward to a quiet Christmas Eve."

"There's lots of Christmas Eve left," Harry rationalised. "If these lot start misbehaving, we can just grab Rory and head upstairs."

Hermione laughed. "I don't think Draco's letting go of him."

"Draco was the first to start drinking," Harry told her, looking at the blonde and the way his cheeks were sporting that tell-tale flush of being off your face. "He's a sociable drunk. Believe me. The amount of times I've gone to his house and he's been drunk - god. The love declarations, the spooning... He'll let go of Rory soon enough."

"Good," Hermione said quietly, looking at him with a small, contented smile on her face, and suddenly Harry was thinking back to that night that changed so much of the end of this year, and he wondered if she was thinking the same.

"I'll start!" yelled Pansy, the self-declared leader of this ridiculous bloody game. "Let's start tame... Never have I ever kissed a girl!"

Harry rolled his eyes as he drank, along with most of the members of the circle. Obviously, it was just a way to take out as many people as possible, but he couldn't help wondering if Pansy _knew_ this was the saddest thing ever. The only people not to drink were Hermione, Padma, Lavender and... Draco?

Harry digested this information as Seamus countered with "Never have I ever kissed a boy!"

Draco drunk this time, and Harry knew he must have had a lot to drink already to reveal something this huge in a manner that was almost blase. Although, he thought, looking around the circle, a lot of them wouldn't remember this tomorrow. He doubted whether Draco even had the mind to recognise that.

"Never have I ever sucked dick," Neville chimed in, surprising everyone. Not because he hadn't done it, of course, just because Harry didn't think he'd ever heard something so crude come out of Neville's mouth.

Hermione, along with many others, drank.

For some reason, this shook him. His mind was taken over with two competing thoughts - one half of his brain was thinking that oh my gosh this was with Ron, his best friend, and fuck what was he doing chasing after her this was such a fucked up scenario - and the other thought would be wondering what would be like to have Hermione's lips on _him_ , looking deep into his eyes as she bobbed up and down.

Harry promptly made his escape into his bedroom. First, he had gone to his bathroom, but there were two silhouettes very close together in there, and so Harry had choked out an apology and slid down the wall, as he seemed to be doing a lot lately. Damn Hermione. Damn himself. Damn life.

"Harry?"

Harry didn't even need to lift his head from his hands to know who came up for him.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said, dropping to her knees in front of him. "It's a bit overwhelming. I know it's been a stressful few days, and you needed a quiet night in."

Harry shook his head. "It's not that," he mumbled. "Hermione… What are we actually doing here?"

Beside him, Hermione shook her head too. "I don't know," she admitted. "Not a clue. But hasn't it been that our whole lives? We've always taken risks, always blundered through everything blind, and we've always been fine." She paused for a second. "Are you having second thoughts?" She asked trepidantly.

"I don't know what's going to happen if it keeps going on," Harry said. "This is what I want. But maybe I shouldn't want it."

"Come on," Hermione said, standing up. "No good thinking about this sort of thing when you're drunk. Relationships are messy. Just enjoy your Christmas Eve."

Harry looked up to see her holding one hand out to him, and took it, clambering to his feet. He expected Hermione to let go but she wrapped her hands around his neck and started swaying to some imaginary beat.

Harry felt rather embarrassed. "Hermione –"

"No-one's here," she said, her eyes gazing straight into his. "Let's just dance Christmas in. It's got to be midnight soon."

Harry placed his hands on her waist, on the smooth texture of her dress, and joined her, swaying side to side, both stumbling a little because of the alcohol they had ingested. Hermione's cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkly, and in that moment Harry made up his mind and kissed her.

Hermione, not expecting the kiss, was pushed backwards by it and fell, movie style, onto his bed. Harry stood there and laughed.

"Ay, Lav, Hermione and Harry are in here," a very slurred Seamus said from the doorway. "We'll have to go somewhere else."

"But that's the only room with a bed," Lavender whined. As she came into view, lipstick heavily smudged and clothes askew, Harry understood what they were getting at.

"Hey, Harry, if you two don't need this bed, couldn't you go and hang downstairs?"

"You're not having sex in my bed!" Harry said, outraged.

"Why?" Lavender asked.

"It's my bed! I don't want other people's bodily fluids on my bed!"

"Well, to be fair, they'd all go into Lavender," Seamus reasoned, "so there wouldn't be none going on your bed."

Harry was gobsmacked.

"You two have houses," Hermione said, "why not use them?"

"It would spoil the party fun," Seamus advised. "Besides, Harry, you're a fucking wizard. Surely you can clean up a bit of-?"

"I'm going! I'm going!" Harry bellowed, ready to rinse his ears out with bleach. "Have fun!"

"Cheers, lad," Seamus grinned, as Hermione and Harry fled the room.

"The audacity," Harry said, turning to Hermione. She nodded. "Hmmm," she mumbled as she once again pressed her lips to his.

Harry could taste vodka on her lips and, if he listened intently, he could still hear sounds from Seamus and Lavender that he really didn't want to hear. Still, Hermione's warm body was pressed against his, and her lips were soft and smooth, and he could feel her eyelashes flutter contentedly shut on his cheeks, and Harry's brain just kind of shut down, melted, and exploded just for good measure.

His heart ached and his world narrowed down, forgetting the rest of the party, forgetting Ron, forgetting everything.

It just felt right.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: I am so so sorry for the massive gap! I tried to write this chapter about five times, honestly. It's a short one but I know what's happening next so there should be an upload soon!

Harry was rudely awoken by something pecking at his face.

He opened his eyes blearily to see a large, blurry, owl shaped blob right next to his face, looking at him disapprovingly. He didn't have his glasses on (and who knew where they'd ended up), but there was something in the stance of the owl that suggested it was very much not amused.

After a few blinks he recognised it as the paper round owl.

"Shit," he mumbled, fumbling around in his pockets for some change. "How much – is it twenty knuts? Bloody inflation," he murmured, counting the coins his pockets had provided. "Thirteen. Okay. Um – wait a second?" He looked at the blurry figure that had been sleeping next to him (disturbingly close to him – Harry recoiled at the idea of practically spooning with some random dude) and recognised him as Draco. "Draco?" He whispered, shaking the blonde vigorously. "Have you got seven knuts?"

Had Draco woken up he probably would have made some inappropriate joke, but Draco slept on. Harry sighed. "Sorry, Draco, this doesn't mean anything," he said hurriedly, sticking his hand to rummage in Draco's pockets.

Someone coughed over him.

Illuminated by the morning light, Harry could see Hermione, towering like a statue over him. He froze, his hand still in Draco's pocket.

"Should I be more worried that you have your hand down a guy's jeans, or that you seem to be stealing from your best friend?" Hermione asked, handing the owl twenty knuts. The owl did a relieved head bob towards her, dropped a paper on the floor, and deftly flew out of the slightly ajar window.

Harry hastily took his hand out of Draco's jeans. "Hermione," he said bemusedly, his head still swimming with sleep. "What are you doing up?"

"It's morning, dumbass," she said cheerily, swatting him on the head with the paper. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" Harry blurted. "Shit – I forgot – what time is it?"

"About nine," Hermione answered. "Most people went home last night. I think Lavender and Seamus might still be in your bed, though. I went in your room to borrow a t-shirt and saw some large lumps under the duvet."

Harry found his glasses under his pillow and shoved them on. Hermione was, indeed, wearing one of his t shirts, which fit rather too well for Harry's ego, along with the jeans she'd had on the day before.

"I'd better get them out," Harry sighed, scrambling to his feet. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Please," Hermione nodded, sitting down at one of the kitchen chairs and opening up the prophet. "What have you got?"

"Um," Harry opened the fridge. "What will you eat?"

Hermione gave him a frosty look. "Anything that isn't the product of some poor animal's suffering."

Harry scanned the fridge. "That's not a lot," he admitted sheepishly. "You might have to be in charge of the breakfast. I don't know what stuff you can make with vegetables. Not that I have many of them." He paused. "Hermione?"

"Harry, have you seen the newspaper?"

Hermione's voice sounded funny. "Um, no, you took it, remember?" He said, turning around to face her. "What is it?"

Hermione handed it over to him wordlessly. The front page had a big photo of Draco showering, from the waist up, his arms raised so that the dark mark was clear to see.

 **CONVICTED DEATH EATER AWARDED 'LARGE SUM OF MONEY' IN LEGAL FEES AFTER DISCRIMINATION CRACKDOWN**

"Good," Harry said. "He's really been eating away at all the money his father left him."

Hermione gave him a _i-think-you're-missing-the-point-and-you-should-really-be-more-sensitive_ look.

"Well, yeah, poor him," Harry added hastily, "but Draco doesn't even look at the papers anymore. He knows what they're going to say about him anytime the news gets slow."

Hermione raised her eyebrows but dropped the subject. "I'll cook breakfast. You wake up Lavender, Seamus, and Draco."

Harry grimaced. "Okay," He sighed. " _Expecto patronum_!"

With a lazy flick of his wand the powerful outline of his patronus burst into the room. "Can you tell Lavender and Seamus to get the hell up and out of my bed, please?" He asked it, to which the stag nodded politely and cantered off out of the room.

"Harry, that's so lazy," Hermione reprimanded, now rummaging through his bread bin.

Harry shrugged. "How much would you hate me if I cast a rennervate on Draco?"

Hermione looked at him and a slight smile graced her lips. "You know, I think that might put me in a good mood. Although, it's utterly evil and I don't condone it, of course."

Harry winked at her and then bellowed, unnecessarily loud, " _Rennervate!"_

Draco woke up and immediately started being over dramatic.

"What did you do that for, you douchebag?" He swore, clutching his head. "My brain feels like it's on fucking fire! I fucking hate you!"

"Morning, Draco," Harry chuckled. "Breakfast?"

Draco cast a cautious eye at the kitchen. "Granger's cooking? Does that mean we're having that vegan shit?"

"Yep," Hermione called from the other side of the room.

"That's a shame, I could do with a bit of bacon," he sighed, getting ungainly to his feet. "Merry Christmas, you two."

"Merry Christmas."

"It gets a bit less exciting when you're in your twenties, doesn't it."

"Have you got presents, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Draco tilted his head. "Did I get you a present?"

Harry grinned. "I think I have a few. I mean, the entire wizarding world tends to send me Christmas presents. But from close people, I don't think I have that many."

"I asked my parents to send their gifts to me here," Hermione told him, putting pancake mix (made from god knows what) into a large frying pan.

There was a moment of thick silence as both Harry and Hermione thought about Ron. Would they, too, be getting presents today? Or would Ron be too angry to reconcile, even for Christmas?

Draco was as usual oblivious to the tension.

"Do you think Lavender and Seamus are having another go in your bed?"

Harry was torn between tears and laughter.

"I don't want to go in," Harry said decisively.

"It'll be okay," Hermione reassured.

"How gross would it be if they did anal?" Draco asked.

Harry glared at him.

"You can buy a new bed, Harry," Hermione said.

"I don't want to buy a new bed," Harry said plaintively. "I like my bed. It has nice memories."

"Like the time you screwed the Weaslette?" Draco asked helpfully.

Harry glared at him again, and then looked back at the solid wood of the door with fear in his eyes.

"Do you think we should knock?" Wondered Hermione.

Harry shrugged, and then knocked.

It wasn't Lavender or Seamus who opened the door. Blaise Zabini, with a towel wrapped around his waist, opened the door, water dripping down his torso. In the corner of his eye, Harry could see Draco practically drooling, and, disconcertingly, Hermione's face had adopted a similar expression.

"Blaise!" Harry said. "Um… Did are Lavender and Seamus in there?"

"Yeah," Blaise answered. "They slept through your patronus. I'll get them up."

"How come you didn't go home?" Hermione asked.

"I got very drunk, didn't I?" He replied with a smirk. "Spent the night with your mates. They're quite feisty for Gryffindors. Fun party, Harry, hats off to you."

Blaise then shut the door, leaving the trio staring slackjawed at the oak.

Harry was the first to speak up.

"I'm burning that bloody bed."


	7. Chapter 7

AN: I am writing this on my birthday, to make up for like, six months of not updating? (Though to be fair I have been in hospital since April and I'm going back in tomorrow to a new unit, yes, on my freaking birthday, please take pity on me. I haven't abandoned you all.) I have tried to write this about five times, so I hope it's okay, but to be honest, this is a speed-write and a fucking half, so it might be shite. I'm going to try and make it extra long and include some smut because I have been asked for it, but if you no likey, skip past the bit where they are drunk, I guess. If you likey, tell me, and I might do some more.  
Note; I featured not white Hermione because... It's a long story, but anyway, that's to explain the smut scene.  
Also, I think it's my duty to warn any virgins that wander upon this page, smut is nothing like real life. If you've had sex that is like smut, then please, hook me up.

"I think we should go round to the Weasleys'", Hermione murmured, as they ate their way through a massive box of Redwards Chocolates. "We ought to thank you for the presents they bought us."  
Harry looked guiltily at the pile of Christmas presents that laid at the foot of the corner or two of the walls, amongst which were a number of presents from the Weasley family. Mrs and Mr Weasley had bought Hermione a small book and a little camera which had a lot of blank pages, two already filled in with smiling, waving pictures of Mr and Mrs Weasley and a few smaller ones of them with Hermione, plus some pastel icing biscuits. Harry had a little silver pheonix snitch which scratched him if he caught it too hard, and a large jar of home-baked goods, including cashew syrup slabs, large crumbly ginger biscuits and lemon zest slices. And, of course, the customary Weasley jumpers, both with H on, Harry's deep blue, Hermione's a pale purple. That wasn't even counting the presents from the Weasley brothers or Ginny.  
Ron had sent a little transparent broom model around that was zooming around the place, and Hermione had recieved from him 'The physics of magic', which had brought tears brimming to the surface. Harry hadn't mentioned it, just hoped that a hug would do instead, and it must have been enough because Hermione had laughed, patted his hear, and burrowed her head into his shoulder.  
Harry's heart panged when he thought of Ron, but he was of the opinion that if he turned up at The Burrow, he would get a deck in the face.  
"Besides," Hermione continued, oblivious to Harry's imaginary Ron punching imaginary Harry in the face, "We always go there, Mrs Weasley might be a bit upset if we didn't turn up, especially you, Harry."  
Harry's thoughts turned to Hermione slapping Draco and was cheered up by having someone on his side who could hit well.  
"I guess we'll have to get our jumpers on, then," Harry said, grabbing his and pulling it haphazardly over his head. "Come on, Hermione, they'll be having tea now and I'd quite like a slice of cake."  
Hermione grumbled behind him as she pulled on her jumper and put on her shoes, but in a few minutes they were out the door and apparating to the Burrow, before Harry's courage dissolved.

The noise from The Burrow could be heard from outside the house. It looked the same as ever, except even more worn out and some vegetables growing outside. The cockaroo on the vine on the roof was crowing and a small fat pony was now grazing along with the chickens.  
The knocker on the door seemed to be staring at them, and then Harry realised it was staring at them; holding his eyes in a suspicious gaze.  
"What do you want?" Asked the knocker. "If it's mail, put it straight through the letterbox."  
"You're new," Harry had simply.  
"Well," the knocker said, in the tone of a long-sufferring relative waiting to pour its heart out, "You wouldn't believe some of the owls nowadays. Trying to argue with me, getting me to open up the door for a simple little parcel. It's expandable! I tell them, but nobody ever seems to listen to a knocker. And then if it can't get through, leaving it on the floormat, no regard for safety of the parcel itself. And then there's all sorts of animals round here, and those pesky gnomes, and occasionally unwanted visitors.. Who are you, anyway?" It demanded suddenly.  
"Harry, Harry Potter," Harry said, "And this is my friend, Hermione."  
The word friend seemed odd now.  
"Well," the knocker said, after a few seconds of silence. "We all know who you are. Hang on. Pig!"  
After a minute or so of Harry and Hermione staring at the knocker, which had relapsed happily into silence, a small, fluttery but now slightly portly owl arrived twittering happily.  
"Pig!" Hermione cried out, a smile on her face.  
"Pig," The door knocker said, "Would you please inform the family Harry and Hermione are here."  
Pig flew inside.  
"It's all a rather long process, isn't it?" Hermione remarked.  
"Well," the door knocker said, "You could have just knocked.  
Harry laughed at the horrified expression on Hermione's face.  
The door was thrown open with a bang ("Mind the hinges!") And George Weasley's face was suddenly grinning at them. "Hey, guys. You aren't so hot around here right now, huh?"  
"You're not annoyed though, right?" Harry asked, worried.  
George shook his head. "Of course not. These things happen! Anyway, I'm not very hot right now here, either. I thought it would be a good time to tell the family something and it's not gone down all too well."  
"What was it?" Harry asked curiously.  
"Harry, you have no tact," Hermione reprimanded.  
"That I'm gay," George said simply.  
"Knew that," Harry responded instantly.  
George grinned at him. "It's good to have you here, mate. Even if the only reason is that you'll take the spotlight off of me."  
Harry laughed. "Should we even come in?"  
"We're here to give our thanks to Molly for the gifts."  
"And for cake."  
"Harry."  
"Right. Gifts."  
"Cheers for the gift by the way, George," Hermione added. "Those imagination boxes are very creative."  
Harry laughed. "Cheers for mine, too. I'm loving the grow-your-own extra limbs. I might go into work like that. When I get a job."  
"Harry!" Charlie joined George at the door with a large frothing pint of Butterbeer. "Want some?"  
Harry nodded and held his hand out to recieve one.  
"Hermione, want something?"  
"Scorcher and lemonade," she informed him, and he disappeared once more.  
"Well, come in," George said. "Although," he said, pointing at the mistletoe, "I wouldn't use that right now. Not in the current climate."  
"George!" Mrs Weasley yelled, emerging from the kitchen. "Get in here, the chicken legs won't dip and I can't do that while I'm making holes for the sausages - oh, hello, dears," she said, looking towards Harry and Hermione. "As you can see, I'm a bit off a mess-" she showed them hands covered in flour -"but I'll be out in five minutes. We're going up for a picnic, would you like to come?"  
"No, thanks," Harry said, squeezing Hermione's hands. "We just came to thank everyone for the presents."  
"I see," she whispered, "You're a you now." She cleared her throat. "Well, you're both very welcome, did you like them?"  
"Yes," Hermione said, "and I wondered, since all the family are down, could you get everyone to sign like you did? I think it's a beautiful idea."  
Mrs Weasley blushed slightly. "Well, dear, I'm glad, because we've got lots of kids to buy for, you see, and we wanted it to be individual." "Would you like my help?" Hermione asked, indicating to the kitchen.  
Mrs Weasley shook her head. "I'm sure we should use your spellwork, Hermione, but you might be a bit upset - the chicken is so fresh it is literally dancing on the plates."  
Hermione looked revolted.  
Harry pushed her through the corridor into the room where the family were congregated. Immediately, children started descending on them - all small, one stocky brown-haired boy with a crow on his shoulder and chocolate round his mouth, one girl with long blonde curly hair and very fair skin, and one with a mop of straw-coloured hair in mud-covered dungarees.  
"Teddy!" Harry smiled, picking up the brown-haired boy and balancing him on his hip. "How have you been?"  
"I got a new crow called Murgatroyd and I have been teaching him to bow and I have been using raisins and Auntie Annie has been helping but it's been taking some time," Teddy said in one very long breath.  
"Why is your crow called Murgatroyd?" Harry asked, mildly perplexed.  
Teddy stared at him. "Why not?"  
Meanwhile, Isabel was telling Hermione about her Christmas present, a snitch that was transparent so you could see all the little workings, and Eloise was quietly stirring salt into the raspberry jam.  
Bill was a little way over, talking to Mr Weasley ("It's their turn to be over here, of course, and Fleur completely understands, we went to France yesterday, but her parents don't want her over here, of course, the children miss her lots-") and Ginny was engaging in deep conversation with Ron, which probably not a good sign.  
"Harry," Ron said, his voice full of rage as he spotted him, which, even though he uttered the word quietly, was filled with so much venom it cut through the silence like a knife.  
"Err," Harry said.  
"How come you're here?" He said, in his quiet shaking voice.  
"Honestly, Harry, I can't believe you're here," Ginny said, a lot louder.  
"Ginny," Harry said, but then couldn't finish a sentence to complete it with.  
Ron seemed to have found his voice.  
"You shouldn't be here! Not on my Christmas day! This is my house! And bringing her -" his voice cracked here, in a way that made Harry's heart drop through his stomach. "You always had to out do me, didn't you!"  
"Ron, that's not fair!" Hermione said angrily.  
"Shut it," Ginny said. "This isn't about you."  
"Yes, it is!" Hermione yelled. "You can't blame Harry for this, Ron!"  
"I don't blame Harry," Ron said shakily. "I blame Harry for what came after. He could have kept his hands off! He could have kept out of my house! You know," he said, lowering his voice, "He saw what my worst fears were. He saw it, and he promised there was nothing in it. Turns out, you-know-who was right. You always understood him, didn't you, Harry? It takes a snake to know one, doesn't it?"  
"Ron!" Hermione yelled, while Harry felt like he'd been physically wounded. "That's awful!"  
"It's true!" Ron yelled back.  
Harry set Teddy down on the floor and hugged him hard. Then he stood up and looked Ron right in the eye.  
"My parents died when I was a baby," he said weakly. "This place has been like family to me. And I've always been treated as family. It's not fair to treat me as if I'm some outsider forcing myself in."  
He looked at Mr Weasley, Bill, and Charlie's sorrowful faces and his head spun.  
"I want to go home," he said simply, and his head envisioned being in Hogwarts in the Gryffindor common room, and his heart ached in tune with his head. "Home."  
"Come on," Hermione said softly, grasping his arm, and pulling him away. "Come."  
He followed, and then clung onto her as she pulled him into a disapparation.  
He expected his flat, but he awoke to Diagon Alley, where it was slowing lightly and there were mistletoe twigs above every shop.  
"Geothermal charm," Hermione announced, and then dragged them through a shopdoor.  
Harry's eyes threatened to tear. "Where are we?"  
"Firewhiskey," Hermione said to the shop assistance. "Arroweyes. Dragonridge drops. Anything else, Harry?"  
"I'm good."  
"Here you are," the cashier, tall, slim and lightly goth, said. "Don't drink it all at once."  
"Can't promise that," Hermione said brightly, and then they were out on the streets again and Harry had a firewhiskey in his hand and Hermione was swigging out of an Arroweye. "Sorry, Harry. I just can't deal."  
"Didn't have you down as an alcoholic," Harry joked feebly, sipping at his Firewhiskey.  
Hermione laughed, and then her smile died down to a frown.  
"What's Luna doing down Knockturn Alley?"  
Harry wouldn't have recognised Luna for Luna. Not with a big jacket and her hair all done up in a sloppy bun and wearing all dark colours, chatting to a suspicious looking tall man. Not Luna.  
"Let's not stare," he said, so they walked past.  
"Hey Harry," Hermione said.  
Harry looked at her.  
"Come here," she said, and pulled him into a tight embrace and then kissed him hard. When she pulled away, her forehead rested on his and she heard him laugh from underneath him. "Mistletoe," she giggled, as if it were the funniest thing in the world.  
"You're drunk," Harry laughed.  
"Better than being not," she countered. "You've barely drunk anything, anyway."  
Harry was spluttering a reply when she pressed her lips to him again, her lips soft and slow-moving, her hand in his hair and her body flushed against him.  
"This'll probably be in the daily prophet," Harry whispered into her ear, making her smile and shudder.  
"I don't care," she whispered back.  
"Me neither," Harry agreed.

A few hours later, they were beginning to run out of alcohol.  
"I'm running out," Hermione giggled, eyeing up the last drops of the Firewhiskey.  
"Yes," Harry said.  
"Can we buy some more?"  
"Where did we buy it?"  
Neither of them could remember.  
"All I remember is Ron is a C-U-N-T,"  
"Shhhhh!" Hermione laughed, putting her finger on his mouth.  
"Fuck Ron," Harry said  
"I'd rather fuck you," Hermione whispered, and then her lips were on his, soft and yet hard in the most weird but beautiful way and one of her hands was knotted in his hair and the other one was on his back. Harry kissed her back, hard, and the words she'd just said were processing through his brain. He could feel her body push against him a she settled herself in his lips and he groaned, one hand running up her shirt and the other one running down the back of her jeans, squeezing the swell of flesh there. He pulled away from the kiss and put his lips to her neck and started softly kissing it, then kissing hard and leaving hickeys when he heard moans. Her hands tugged at his shirt and they paused only long enough for his shirt to come off before they were kissing again, her hands running up his back while his made his way to her chest.  
She was wearing a lacy, satiny sort of bra, and Harry spent a few seconds feeling the fabric (how gay, the inner draco told him) before his hand slipped under and met flesh. It was warm and firm and jesus christ, Harry reflected, it had been too long since he'd done this. His hands slipped to her back and unclasped it, and then tugged both that and her shirt up and over her head.  
Their foreheads met for a seconds, just drinking in the sight of each other. Neither of them were exactly gym bunnies, but Harry thought Hermione was beautiful, her chest heaving up and down from exertion, a curved waist below a large, full pair of breasts, both soft and smooth and brown with nipples swollen from the cold air. Her curls were beginning to frizz at the ends and her mouth looked slightly swollen. Bruises were starting to bloom up her neck.  
Hermione obviously drunk in her fill first because she pushed him down and began kissing at his neck, which was absolutely fine with him, because he could start his hands at her beautiful waist and then make their hands up to her ass and  
squeeze and spread and generally grope her.  
Hermione clearly had other ideas because she moved herself out of Harry's reach. A low whine came out of his throat when she pulled herself at eye level with his crotch and then unbuttoned his trousers.  
Her hand moved down under his underwear and then he felt her hand on his erection, small and warm. He tried to thrust against it, give him some friction, when she drew it back out.  
He could have cried.  
Her hands undid his trouser zipper and then pulled his jeans off so he was just sitting underwear. Then she pulled her jeans off too, showing some black satiny underwear with flowers on that he guessed matched the one he'd taken off previously, and then sat down on his crotch.  
Harry's blood rushed to his dick and he gasped, his hands instinctively going to her hips and pushing down. He could feel himself against her clit and vagina, enveloped by her folds and seperated by two thin pieces of fabric which he was beginning to hate.  
He heard her laugh on an inward gasp and then she was off again. He was about to complain before he felt his underwear join his jeans and a small mouth envelope the tip of his cock.  
He looked down to see Hermione looking up at him with her deep brown eyes and lips open, a strand of precum connected between them and his dick. Then she took him into her mouth for real and Harry gasped, his hands flying to her hair.  
It was all he could do to not push his cock down her throat and thrust in hard and fast. Instead he had to be content with gazing down at her as she took him in and out of her mouth slowly and skillfully, keeping her teeth away and moaning so that vibrations went all through his dick and down to his balls, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt. Her mouth never reached the full length of him but she kept one hand on him moving at the base of his shaft while his mouth worked on the rest, letting his precum lubricate the hand wanking him. It was bliss.  
"Hermione -" Harry struggled to get words out as he pulled her off of him. "I'm gonna cum if you keep going that way."  
It was a risk in case she was just assuming a blowjob, but she smiled wickedly and he knew she had the same intentions he did. "Come and get me, then," she said sexily, laying back on the sofa and waiting for him.  
He spread open her legs with shaking hands to reveal Hermione's crotch, her clit and the tiny hole which he did not think he could fit himself into. It all lay beautifully cradled between swollen folds and vaginas, surely, couldn't be beautiful, and yet here was evidence to the contrary.  
His face went to her boobs, sucking gently on the swollen buds of her nips between nipping and biting and sucking the skin around them. His hand, meanwhile, made its way down to her vagina, slowly running his finger to the front to the back of her crotch and then back again, coating his fingers in the wetness he found there. Then he slipped one inside her, feeling her silky skin and the way it curled upwards, slowly fucking her with that one finger.  
He stopped giving her boobs hickeys and put his head between her legs. Seeing his finger disappear inside her made his dick throb and he had the urge to go now now now. Chill out, he told himself, cursing his brain. Wait.  
He gave an experimental lick from top down to bottom and then began slowly tonguing her clit as he slipped another finger between her lips. She didn't taste bad, and the sounds she was now making, filthy and lustful, were worth it a thousand times over.  
He slipped a third finger in and then figured it was time. He spread her on her back and then positioned his cock at her entrance. "Ready?" He asked shakily.  
She frowned, and then shook her head. She flipped over, leaning forward with her knees bent so that he could see her vagina and the bud of her ass at the same time. His hands went out and squeezed the newly sensitive skin of her chest while he repositioned himself against her vagina. "I can't go slow," he told her.  
"That's ok," she replied, grinning up at him through her lashes.  
His hands went to her waist to help him and he slowly pulled her onto his cock. It took a few seconds, but then his dick was suddenly all encompassed by a beautiful hot wet tightness, and raw primal lust took over. He thrust the rest of his dick in in one clean push, and then set a bruising pace that set her chest flying and juddering and made his balls slap against her clit every time. They were both breathing like they'd run a marathon and Harry wasn't sure if it was her moaning or his, just that there was a lot of it. It had become a need by now, a need to come that had him thrusting into her desperately until he grabbed her hips and pushed himself completely inside her while he came inside her, his orgasm running through his whole body like shockwaves. When he was through it, his flaccid cock slid out of her and she pulled him into her arms, and they were both laying there hot and covered in their own sweat, but the moment was perfect because they were both whispering into each other, "I love you, I love you, I love you" until they fell asleep.


End file.
